


Kirkwall Noir

by RedInkOfShame, Varric Tethras (RedInkOfShame)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Noir, Canon-Typical Violence, Detective Noir, F/M, References to Drugs, Sex Work, well lyrium anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:47:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 8,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26368921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedInkOfShame/pseuds/RedInkOfShame, https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedInkOfShame/pseuds/Varric%20Tethras
Summary: Inspired by Hard in Hightown and classic Noir, this series follows the gruff private eye, Varric Tethras, as he tries to solve the biggest case of his career. With guest appearances from the whole DA2 crew and Marigold as the femme fatale, this story has all the classics: sex, drugs, violence, and old timey slang.
Relationships: Varigold - Relationship, Varric Tethras/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A couple years ago I started floating around the idea for this, doing a bunch of "research" for it (listening to a bunch of Noir audio books). The project I was working on didn't pan out and I dropped it, up until a few months ago when I saw one (1) Noir episode of ST:TOS and HAD to put together a new plot and try again. And here we are!
> 
> The biggest challenge for me was keeping the chapters as short as possible; they're still about twice the length of the codex entries, but that's still way shorter than I usually manage!

I was in my office when I heard the agency door open. Through my closed door I heard a woman’s voice. I couldn’t make out her words, but her tone was demanding in a way only those born into money could be. 

I also heard my secretary, Merrill, trying to head her off, telling her that she’d need an appointment and the like. Both their voices rose until moments later, to no surprise, my door burst open and the demanding voice turned to me. “Are you the private investigator?” 

Wealthy indeed. Her glad rags were black head-to-toe, and combined with her hard expression she reminded me of the black kirkstone that this city was named after. 

My secretary squeezed in behind her. “I’m sorry, Mr. Tethras. I tried to explain that she can’t—”

“Don’t worry about it, Miss Sabrae.” I knew when I hired the petite Dalish girl with eyes bigger than her head that she wouldn’t be intimidating the clients for us. “Why don’t you go check on the Hawkes while I talk with Mrs…?”

“Mrs. Dulci de Launcet,” the woman sniffed. Orlesian.

“De Launcet,” I finished. 

Merrill nodded, irritated, and left. 

“I’m Varric Tethras, Private Eye. What brings you to my office?” I asked, gesturing to a chair.

She sat, perched on the edge like she was afraid the cheap fabric would devalue her get up. “My husband, Guillaume de Launcet. He was murdered.”

“That sounds like a problem for KPD.”

Her eyes flashed. “I don’t trust the police department. That’s why I’m asking _you_. I’ll make it worth your while if you find anything they haven’t.” 

Leaning back in my chair, I looked her up and down. “I bet you will.” She was a looker, and everything about her down to her manicure spelled ‘money’. Everything but her decision to live in a place like Kirkwall, that is. I pulled out a sheet of paper. “Standard contract then; half now, half later.”

She stood, nose as high as her heels. “You’ll get paid when you finish the job, not a second sooner.”

I sighed, waved her back down, and we hammered out the details. Soon enough she was walking out, and the twins were walking in. 

“So?” Marian prompted.

I gave them the details which, admittedly, were sparse. 

“Oof.” Garrett sat on the far corner of my desk. “Count us out.”

“What? Why’s that?”

“Our mother was engaged to him once,” Marian answered. To her brother she said, “That’s my spot.”

“No it isn’t.”

“It’s no one’s spot, it’s my desk,” I said as she shoved him. “What’s your mom got to do with this investigation?”

“She ditched him to get hitched to Dad,” Garrett explained, voice strained as they pushed against each other. “It’s awkward.”

“This is a big contract fellas, and I don’t got a lot to go on. I’m going to need a little help here.”

Ignoring me, the two of them started fighting dirty, pulling ears and poking old injuries, until a last shoved had them both heaped on the floor. I sighed as Merrill rushed in, concerned. “What’s going on?”

“What’s going on is neither of these two is any use. Remind me why I went into business with them, again?”

“Oh, well…” started Merrill, thinking. She sat on the far corner of my desk as the twins panted on the floor. “I supposed it’s we’ve got no cush. We’re on a nut, barely making the mortgage as it is.”


	2. Chapter 2

Dulci de Launcet didn’t give me much to go on, so I decided to see what Kirkwall’s Finest knew about the death of Guillerme. Luckily, her route hadn’t changed. 

I caught her patrolling an alley up in Hightown where the rich built their mansions tall enough to see the poor squabbling for scraps down in Lowtown. Those who needed security the least always seemed to have the most.

Aveline was a broad, no-nonsense bird with firey red hair and an attitude to match. She scowled when she caught sight of me. “You realize you can just leave a message for me with the station, Mr. Tethras.”

“And miss out on that beautiful mug of yours, Officer Valen?” She scowled harder, and continued walking. I fell in step beside her. “Come on… I’ve got a reputation in this town. I can’t be seen sharing a bottle with no cop.”

“Yeah, you’ve got a reputation all right. Boys down in the barracks have odds on you.”

“Yeah? How long? We could get in on that…” 

“What do you need, Tethras?”

“Right. I’m looking for info on the de Launcet case.”

“Well that’s an easy fix: we don’t have any.”

I stopped. “Nothing?”

She stopped and sighed. “Not that I would necessarily _tell_ you,” she said, eyes scanning the alley, “But no. He was shot at home, in his study. No weapon, no witness, just dead.”

“Any chance he did himself in?” She shook her head. “What did the family say?”

“Not much. They found him, called us. Their grief seems real enough, and no sign of tampering with… Is that Captain Jeven?

I looked up just in time to see the man, who must’ve just come around the corner, spot Aveline. 

She snapped to attention with a salute. “Captain.”

He was scruffy, red-nosed, and in need of a haircut. And he looked as angry enough to chew bullets. “What do you think you’re doing here, Officer?”

She blinked in surprise. “I’m… I’m just on my patrol, sir. Standard duty.”

He turned his glare on me pointedly. “Unless you’re arresting this sward, I suggest you stop clucking and get back to work.”

“Yessir,” Aveline replied to his back as he stormed off. We shared a look as if to say, ‘what was that about?’ before she walked off as well.

I felt guilty for getting her pinched, but mostly I felt irritated with the captain. These streets were used for back entrances only — for servants hard at work and for the rich who didn’t want to be seen, which meant he wasn’t angry Aveline was around, he was just angry he got caught. 

Doing what? Nothing good. Accepting a bribe? Meeting a married mistress? Didn’t matter much. I’d gotten next to nothing from Aveline, and I doubted she’d be very forthcoming after this. 

Well, since I was nearby I figured it was only reasonable to see if I could find anything that KPD hadn’t. Time to break into Mr. de Launcet’s home office.


	3. Chapter 3

According to my information, Guillerme de Launcet primarily worked from home. Maker knows why — he had at least half a dozen kids, and while some were full grown and living on their own, I could still see plenty running about the estate, all bare feet and sticky fingers. Grandkids, maybe.

I staked out the property for an hour or so, timing my entry though the victim’s office window so that no kids, adults, or servants would catch me. It wasn’t difficult; the damn thing wasn’t even locked. I climbed in, sighing in relief when I saw that the door was closed. 

The room had a stillness I couldn’t name. I knew it had less than a week since the murder, that the police had recently combed the place, yet it felt unused. I could still see the half-cleaned bloodstains on the carpet. 

I examined them for a moment, but I didn’t dwell on it. That wasn’t what would get the answers I needed. 

I moved to Guillaume’s desk and skimmed over it. Telephone, family pictures, a rolodex that I flipped through, but nothing caught my eye. I began quietly opening drawers. I found office supplies and paperwork in the first couple — no surprises there. There was an accounting ledger, a big binder of sums. The dates were recent, the older stuff probably in the filing cabinets against the wall. I didn’t bother checking those. If Guillaume cheesed anything it would be in his desk.

There might be useful information in the ledger, but unfortunately I didn’t have time to go through it line-by-line. I ripped out the last few pages, opened my briefcase, and shoved them in. I kept looking. 

I smiled when I discovered the last drawer was locked. I didn’t even bother looking for a key — I’d done my share of box jobs, but you didn’t need to be a can opener for something this easy. I popped the lock, and inside I found something interesting at last: a small, engraved, velvet-lined oak box, also locked, containing lyrium and all the paraphernalia for snorting it. 

If the police had found it they hadn’t bothered bagging it, and I wasn’t going to either. Just knowing he was a user was enough for a lead.

I emptied the drawer smiled even bigger when I felt the telltale hairline seam at the bottom; a hidden compartment. Jackpot. 

Moving quick but quiet I slid the cover off. I found a single folded letter inside. I scanned it quickly, and just like you might assume, it was a lead. A big one. Guess the coppers hadn’t figured that Guillaume was being blackmailed. 

I started putting everything back after tossing the letter in my briefcase. It was from a woman. A pregnant woman, demanding payment for her silence. Just how far would this woman go to get what she wanted?

As I thought about it the door swung open. I froze, and locked eyes with an equally frozen kid, probably around 10. With what I hoped was a disarming smile I pressed a finger to my lips, closed my briefcase, and climbed out the open window. I didn’t look back to see if he was going to keep his silence.

I sprinted, thinking what a shame it was that the blackmail letter was unsigned. That would be too easy, I supposed. Still, I recognized the stationary it was on.

It was time to head to the Hanged Man.


	4. Chapter 4

It was rush hour by the time I reached the speak easy, not that you could tell by looking at it. It was built on the shady side of town — in the literal shadow of High Town — and even most lowlifes knew better than to hang around this drum. It was easy to miss if you didn’t know how to find it but fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, I’d been there before.

I rapped on the door and a moment later a peeker slat slid open. I was expecting to meet the gruff eyes of some Bruno but instead I saw a dish, her eyes nearly as bright and sweet as Miss Sabrae’s. “Password?”

Right. I’d forgotten to check on that. Hopefully they hadn’t changed it from the last time I was here. “Uh, ‘I need a drink’.”

The eyes crinkled with a smile. “Close enough.” The slat closed and the door opened, revealing the bright-eyed skirt, her pin curls glinting in the low light like freshly minted copper pennies. “Welcome to the Hanged Man, Honey.”

Some security. This girl didn’t belong on this side of town, much less guarding a door. “What’s your name, miss?”

“Marigold. And I’m afraid I’m gonna have to frisk ya,” she said. I held out my arms and her hands brushed quickly my over legs and under my jacket, quick and professional like. I admit I was disappointed — I wouldn’t mind a goose from a gander like that, if you know what I mean. Luckily she didn’t check my briefcase. 

“What’s a girl like you doing in a place a this?” I asked. It was none of my business, but I couldn’t seem to help myself.

With one last honey sweet smile she jerked her head towards the bar. “Drinks are that way.”

I took the time to watch her walk away before I headed to the bar. Unlike her, I recognized the bartender from my previous visits. He was hard to forget. He was an elf and had white hair, though he seemed young enough. He must’ve been Dalish because he had white tattoos all over his skin, though they weren’t like any I’d ever seen on anyone else.

“Fenris, you get a good look at most cats around here, right?”

“Depends who’s asking.”

“Hey, I ain’t no brass.” I reached into my jacket pocket and pulled out the picture that Dulci had included in the dossier. “His name’s Guillaume de Launcet. Have you seen him around these parts? Maybe chatting up one of your working girls?” The Hanged Man doubled as a can house.

He reached across the bar and examined the photo. Then he shook his head and slid it back. “Can’t say that I have.”

I smothered a sigh. “You sure? He’s already dead — truth can’t hurt him now.”

“I haven’t seen him. You could ask the girls, but like you said, I’m good with faces.”

“Alright, thanks.” I tossed a fin down for his trouble; his answered hadn’t been worth the five bucks, but I had more questions coming and needed him buttered up. “Say, does the Hanged Man have a dealer on staff?”

Fenris narrowed his eyes. “Blackjack?”

“I was thinking something _blue_ , if you catch my drift.” 

“No,” he answered immediately.

“Really? I figured a place like this—”

“ _No._ ” His casual tone from earlier was gone now. “You figured wrong.”

Huh. A Low Town speakeasy that didn’t deal in lyrium? That was just plain odd. “Sure, sorry pal. I’ll just take a bit of corn, then.”

He nodded and silently and poured me the drink. I left the cash on the bartop and stepped away with my bourbon. What to do next?

That’s when a chippy in a real eye-popper of a dress slinked up to me. She was all dressed in contrasting white with her tresses up in bumper bangs and a blue scarf. “Hey there, sailor. I’m Isabela,” she said, quiet enough that the barkeep wouldn’t have heard. “I couldn’t help but overhear that you got the blues?”


	5. Chapter 5

I turned to the woman; seems like I’d found a lyrium dealer at the Hanged Man after all. “You heard right, Isabela. I’m Varric.”

“You looking for rocks or dust?” She asked, all business. Her hands slid to her purse.

“Actually, I had something else in mind.” She quirked an eyebrow as I pulled out a C-note. “I’m was hoping to buy a little information.” 

She hesitated, glancing around the room and back at the cash. “Not here,” she murmured before grabbing my free hand and leading me upstairs. The second floor was what you’d expect from a place like this, all gaudy curtains and cheap perfume. She pulled me into an empty room with walls thin enough to hear one of the other girls earning her paycheck with a John next door. 

“What did you have in mind?”

“For starters, where did you get it from?”

She sat at a small table. “You want to know my source? That’s a big ask. What’s it to you?”

I slapped the bill on the table and leaned my weight on it. “How ‘bout I ask the questions?”

“He’s just some kid. White, dark hair. Name’s Pryce. He’s nobody.”

“And where does Pryce get it from?”

“Dunno.” I started to pull my hand back and she stopped me. “But I can try to find out!”

“Why don’t you do that,” I suggested.

“What do you want some penny ante operator like that for, anyway? Why does it matter who the middleman is when everyone knows who _his_ supplier is?”

“They do?” 

She arched her eyebrows with a smirk. “You telling me you don’t?”

“Let’s say I am.”

“Well then you must not pay much attention around here. The Qunari smuggle it into their city, hiding it under their diplomatic immunity and all that. They control the supply…” She shrugged. “And I help with the demand.”

“Thank you, Isabela.” I straightened so she could grab the cash. My wallet hurt just looking at it, but it was an investment — so long as I got the job done and got the payment from Dulci it would be all worth it. I tossed a business card down too. “There’s more in it for you, and Pryce, if I get a call from him.”

“Noted,” she purred as card and cash disappeared into her bosom. 

“One more thing, if you would.” I pulled out Guillaume’s photo again. “You seen this guy around these parts? Seems to me he hooked up with one of the girls.”

She studied the image for a moment, but ultimately shook her head. “Can’t say that I have. What’s his name?”

“Guillaume de Launcet.”

She laughed. “DeLauncet? Hah, I know that name!” 

“You do?” I asked, surprised.

“Can’t hardly forget it. It wasn’t this guy, though, it was his son. What was it… _Emile_. Emile de Launcet. He must have told every woman in the bar who his daddy was, like that would get him laid.”

“Huh.” I tucked the photo back in my pocket. “Do you know if it worked?”

She shrugged. “I wouldn’t sleep with him if he were the last man in Thedas,” she said, crossing her legs. “I can’t speak for the others.”

I nodded and opened the door. “Interesting. Thank you again, then. It was a pleasure working with you.”

Then I turned to the hall and nearly ran straight into Marigold. She was carrying an arm full of clean towels. She only smiled at me and continued on her way. I knew what she must’ve assumed I’d been doing in there with Isabela, and for some reason I couldn’t name, that made me uneasy.


	6. Chapter 6

I spent another couple of hours at the Hanged Man that night, talking up the girls. They weren’t very forthcoming, and though I suspected they knew more I couldn’t get a peep out of them. And I never did find a chance to set the record straight with Marigold. Discouraged, I gave up and headed to the flophouse I was staying at. 

There was a message waiting for me from Officer Valen. She must’ve forgiven me, because she’d got on the horn to let me know Guillaume’s funeral was tomorrow afternoon.

I crashed the services the next day, staying in the back and out of sight. You could learn a lot at a funeral if you were lucky: a pretty young thing unrelated to the family could be a mistress, an angry son could have been out for revenge, a smug business partner could be getting their share of the cut, a spouse could fake tears for any number of reasons.

I wasn’t particularly lucky that day. The services was a who’s-who of elite in Kirkwall, but none of them acted like they had particularly strong thoughts about Mr. de Launcet’s passing. They were just here because it was expected of them. The deceased’s children appeared to mourn appropriately, as did Dulci — besides, she was the one who’d hired me. Captain Jeven was present, but that was to be expected during an on-going murder investigation. 

I did manage to get a finger on Emile, though. I could see why Isabela had turned him away. He had beady little eyes and a wispy mustache, and a head of reddish hair except for his shining bald spot. I made my move as his father’s casket was lowered into the ground. “I’m sorry for your loss,” I said quietly as I approached.

He turned, surprised. “Oh. Thank you, sir. Did you know him?”

“‘Fraid not. I’m Varric Tethras, the private eye your mother hired to investigate.”

“Oh, I see. She didn’t tell us she hired anyone. Are you working with the police?” He looked up at Jeven when he said it, and I caught a glimpse of the captain glaring daggers at me. Huh.

“You could say that,” I said. It wouldn’t be true, but he could say it. “I’m sure she just didn’t want to worry you. Parents will do _anything_ to protect their kids, you know. Whatever it takes…”

He nodded blandly, face bland. Maybe he didn’t know about the blackmail, then. 

I kept pressing. “But I guess you’ll know all about that soon enough, won’t you? You’re about to have a little one of your own, after all.”

“Sorry, I think you have me confused with someone else, Mr. Tethras. I’m not married.”

“No, of course not. Not yet, anyway. But I heard a rumor about your ‘relationship’ with a girl from a certain speakeasy. Don’t tell me you’re not going to make an honest woman out of her? What was her name again?”

His eyes went wide, his pasty face even paler. “She’s—she’s pregnant? I can’t believe Ne—”

“ _ **Mr. Tethras!**_ ” I winced as Dulci’s shrill voice interrupted her son. Damn. “What do you think you are doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m just here to pay my respe—”

“It _looks_ like you are questioning my family. I know it was you that broke into my husband’s study — my grandson saw you. You have no right snooping around like this!”

I spread my hands harmlessly. “Snooping is in the job description, ma’am. I’m just doing my due diligence.”

“You are trying to point blame at my family. Listen to me: it was not one of us who did this. I hired you to find my husband’s killer, not to cause trouble!”


	7. Chapter 7

After I was kicked out of the funeral I headed to the Hanged Man. I hadn’t managed to get the name out of Emile before the de Launcet matriarch forbade him — and the rest pf the family — from answering my questions. I would give them some time to cool off before I tried again, unless I figured out the name by other means.

I got another pat down from the cute dwarven serving girl. This time she was eyeing my suitcase, so I distracted her. “Let me ask you a question, Marigold: Any of your working girls pregnant?”

“Oh, you got a kink, hon?”

“Wha— No! I’m just looking for someone.” 

“Oh.” She stiffened. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Alright, any names start with ‘Neh’?”

“No,” she replied instantly.

It was my turn to do the eyeing. “Do you want to take a moment to think about it? Could be a nickname. Maybe I could jog your memor—”

“What’s there to think about?” she snapped before I could even pull out the bribe. “There’s no one here like that. What makes you so sure it’s someone from around here, anyway?”

Weighing my options, and decided to slip the blackmail letter carefully out of my briefcase. I kept it folded, but let her see the Hanged Man letterhead and the first couple of lines. “I don’t suppose you recognize the handwriting?”

I watched as she pretended to study it with interest. “No, sure don’t,” she said at last. “But just because it’s on our paper doesn’t mean it came from here. If I were you I’d go snoop somewhere else.”

~~~

In the end I did just that. She had a point, sort of, and the bartender collaborated her story. I headed to the Blooming Rose instead.

It was possible that Emile’s affair wasn’t with a hooker, which would blow open the list of suspects, but based on what Isabella had said I was guessing he’d paid for the service. If it hadn’t been for the stationary this is where I would have started hunting for a noble’s side dish anyway. 

The place was high class, and pricey. And I didn’t have the password this time, so it cost me a pretty penny to grease palms on the way in. Inside was a quiet bar, and upstairs were bedrooms, as expected at any brothel. At the Blooming Rose, though, there were also meeting rooms, and even a small restaurant. Probably half the men in there were meeting a mistress, and at least a few of the ladies.

At least it was easy to get names this time — Madam Lusine offered me a list. Adriano, Cerimon, Cora, Denier, Sabina, Katriela… No ‘Neh’s. And no current pregnancies. 

I was standing at the bar, considering what lead to pursue next (and possibly seeing if ‘Faith’ was currently available), when a timid little blonde waitress came by. “Menu, sir?”

“Why not?” I read her name badge as she passed me one. “Tell me, Orana, did anyone by the name de Launcet come through here recently?”

“Oh, I’m sorry to tell you sir, but Mr. de Launcet… He passed away not to long ago.”

I paused. “You mean Guillaume? Not Emile?” 

“Yessir.”

“Did he come here often?”

“Ye— uh…We’re not supposed…”

Her voice got too quiet to hear. I pulled out my wallet and tossed some cash on the menu, then closed it. “Yes, I’ll have the Dinner Special, thank you,” I said loudly, passing the menu back to her. 

I didn’t like the way she seemed to take it because she was too scared not to. “Of— Of course sir,” she said it what must have passed for a loud voice for her. Lower, she said, “He used to come in all the time, twice a month or more. Him and the Police Captain rent one of the meeting rooms, sometimes order food or entertainment, but not always.”

Now there was something. What would a nobleman be doing with a friend like that? 

“Thank you. You’ve been very helpful, Orana.”


	8. Chapter 8

The next day I went where any Maker-fearing Andrastian goes the day after visiting a brothel: to confession. 

I stepped into the booth, sat, and slid open the screen. Luckily it was the right booth this time — I recognized the priest’s profile.

“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned,” I said. “It’s been, uh… Actually I’ve never been to confession.”

The priest gave a long, exasperated sigh, which somehow had a Starkhaven accent. “Maybe you ought to keep it that way, Varric.”

“Hey, are you allowed to say that?”

“I am when you’re not actually here to confess,” claimed Father Sebastian. “Why _are_ you here?”

“I just need a little information. You still got contacts?”

I could see him shake his head. “You know I gave that wicked life, Mr. Tethras.”

“But that doesn’t mean you’ve forgotten everything. Taking up the cloth doesn’t erase who you used to know. You’ve mentioned the drinking, the whoring… What about lyrium?”

“What about it? You want to know if I ever tried it?”

“Well, no, not really. Do you know any dealers in the city?” 

“I’m not going to help you buy lyrium, Mr. Tethras. However on the weekend Sister Patrice leads a recovery group—”

“I’m not looking to buy!” I interrupted. “More like I’m looking for who a nobleman would buy from. It’s for a case.”

“Ah, I see.” He nodded. “I imagine they’d buy it from another noble. That’s how it works in the city. The Qunari bring it in, the nobles distribute it amongst themselves and to middlemen in High Town, who filter it to dealers in Low Town. Everyone knows that.”

“Right, the Qunari… Everyone knows that. Do you happen to have any name? Like, say, de Launcet?”

“You know I can’t tell you, Varric.”

“More like won’t…” I grumbled. Pretending it was for a different case, I said, “Alright, I’ve got another one. What about girls? I’m looking for information on a hooker, her name might start with ‘Neh’ or something like that...”

“That’s not a lot to go on, Mr. Tethras, not that it matters — I can’t tell you anything. My job is to take confessional and guide people to the light, not to _gossip_.” 

“This one’s serious!” I protested. “A man was _murdered_ , Father. He’s got a grieving widow, and more kids than I bothered to count. I’m just trying to find his soul some peace.”

There was a long silence, during which I did not mention that the kids were already grown, and were probably raised by nannies, anyway. 

“Come on,” I pleaded. “You’ve got to give me something I can work with here!”

He let out a huge breath and I knew I had him. “Fine. I won’t give you any names, but I can get you in contact with a call girl who knows everything about everyone in Low Town. She might be able to help you, if you can convince her. Come by my place tonight and I’ll introduce you.” Almost wistfully he added, “Her name is Penny, and she’s got the brightest smile you’ve ever seen.”


	9. Chapter 9

As soon as I got to Father Sebastian’s place he got on the blower and ordered up the call girl/informant. He offered me a drink while I waited in a sitting room of some kind. I didn’t know what a priest was doing with the good stuff, or such a classy set up, but I wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. 

When the doorbell rang he gestured for me to stay, but I could hear him clearly enough from down the hall. “Penny! Thank you for coming on such short notice. Please, come in.”

I heard her heels click as she stepped in and followed Father Sebastian to the room I was waiting in. “Well now, of course I came! All the girls were so sad to hear you’d, uh, ‘retired’. I’ve just about gone straight myself, but of _course_ I’ll make an exception for—”

She cut off as she stepped into the room and my jaw fell open. This doll had hair as copper her name all done up in victory rolls over cherry lipstick. Her dress was cut low over a helping generous enough to make most men drool. 

That wasn’t what had me slack-jawed, though. “ _Marigold?_ ”

The sweet innocent girl from the Hanged Man was gone, replaced by the sexpot looking accusingly between me and the priest. “I don’t suppose you had a group thing in mind?”

“I don’t suppose so,” he answered. Then he said hurriedly, “Sorry, Penny,” and quickly closed the door.

She reached for the handle immediately, but he’d already slide the deadbolt in place. 

She turned on me. “You put him up to this?”

“Removed the doorknob and put it back on backwards myself, right after he called you.”

She crossed her arms. “You have no right to put a bag on me! Either of you! Just what’s the big idea?”

“Well, Penny,” I sat at a small table, gesturing for her to join me. “I just need to ask you a few questions. After that you’re free to go.”

“You’ve been asking questions all weekend,” she huffed, unmoving. “Just because you’re a Private Dick doesn’t mean you can go around upsetting everyone. I’m no canary and I’m not ratting out my friends, so I guess we’re just stuck in here until he comes back.”

I poured us both a drink. “Well you better start wagging your chin or I suggest you get comfortable, because he’s not coming back until morning.”

“What!”

“You were planning on spending the night here anyway,” I said with a shrug.

She made an indignant little noise. “Not with _you_.” 

Over the next several minutes I watched her poke around the room, check all the windows (also locked), and pull out a hairpin to try her hand at lock picking. After another angry huff she finally gave up and sat across from me, snatching her drink. 

We drank silently for a while, the only noise a loud ticking clock. I waited her out for several long minutes before she finally said, "What’s got you poking around the Hanged Man, anyway?”

I told her the story, letting her take a real look at the blackmail letter. It was a risk, but I had to get her to talk. When I was done, she passed it back. “You’re wasting your time.”

“How so?”

She clammed up again. Then she must have spotted a deck of cards, because the got up and grabbed them. “I tell you what,” she said as she began to shuffle. “Let’s play for it: best two of three, hold ‘em, aces high. You win, you get what you want, I win, I get what I want.”

“Deal!” I said. And she did.

I won, of course, but not without some of my best sleight of hand — she was watching me closely. 

“Fine,” she said, crossing her arms and leaning back. “You win. I still don’t know what good it’ll do you. It’s Nella you’re looking for, and yeah, she’s with the Hanged Man. Not working right now, what with the condition she’s in. But she’s no murderer.”

“Maybe you don’t know her as well as you think you do. Did you believe before that she’d stoop to blackmail?”

“She’s no murderer,” she answered plainly. 

Huh. Guess that blackmail wasn’t surprising for Nella after all. 

I thought it over a bit as I put the cards back in the box. Nella wouldn’t be able to get the payout from Guillaume if she killed him, of course, but there was always Emile himself. Plus Dulci seemed traditional enough to shotgun a wedding to save her family’s name…

“What were you going to ask for if you won?” I asked.

Marigold smirked. She grabbed the front of my shirt and pulled me in, planting a hard kiss on my mouth.


	10. Chapter 10

I had her twice that night — or, I guess I should say, Marigold had _me_. We woke up naked on Father Sebastian’s fancy loveseat. I’d have to remember to send him a thank you note.

As we pieced our clothes back together I check my suitcase and my wallet; it wasn’t that I didn’t trust her, but one could never be too careful. After finding that my wallet still had it’s contents intact I began to pull out some cash. “Hey, uh, how much do I owe you for last night?” I asked awkwardly.

She gave me an appraising look. Her ‘do was ruined, so she was pulling down her copper curls. I liked her better like that. “Last night was on the house,” she said with a small smile. “That was for Marigold, not Penny.”

“Oh,” I considered that for a moment, then smiled. “Does that mean I can take you to breakfast?”

She beamed.

She was somewhat less amused, however, when I picked the lock to let us out — I had never planned on waiting for the priest to come to our rescue. Still, she shared a taxi with me to the hash house near my flop. Their bacon was nothing to get excited about, but the eggs were good and the coffee was great. 

We ate. We talked about the case — she seemed interested in it now that I wasn’t hounding her friends. Not at the moment, anyway. We also talked about normals things; work, the movies, and the like. 

We were walking out the door when it happened. A car careened around a corner to my right, goons with beanshooters leaning out the window. I saw them just in time to shove Marigold back inside and duck. Gunfire rained down the street, shattering the windows all around us. People screamed, including Marigold.

When I realized they were going to make a U-turn I booked it into an alley. They had me behind the 8-ball but I wasn’t done yet. I didn’t worry about Marigold; it was me they were after, so she’d be safer inside. 

Instead I yanked open my suitcase and pulled out the lock, stock, and barrel, of my custom-made tommy gun, Bianca. Her circular drum of .45 ammo made her an effective submachine gun. Some papers that were supposed to be in a separate pocket fell out and got swept up by the wind but I didn’t have time to worry about it.

I jammed the parts together just in time to take partial cover behind a trash can as the boiler passed me and opened fire again. This time I returned the favor. 

I didn’t aim for the men in the car, but blew out their tires instead. The car screeched to a halt not far from me and I raced out. They piled out of the car and I gave them hell. 

They dropped like flies, except the driver, who made a run for it. I chased after him. My legs are short but his luck was shorter — he would have gotten away if he hadn’t tried to lose me in an alley that ended up being a dead end. 

He turned but I was already there. “Who sent you?” I demanded.

He spat at me. I could have sworn I recognized him.

I leveled Bianca. “Tell me who sent you before I blast your grits all over the pavement!”

Instead of answering the idiot pulled a handgun from inside his jacket. I let him have it, filling his belly with led. 

It was only after the deed was done that I felt my shirt getting wet, and shortly thereafter felt the intensity of the pain that went with it. 

The bastard had managed to shoot me after all. 

Pressing my hand to the wound I limped over to body and starting digging through his pockets. Marigold came around the corner, then. I would have expected her to use those getaway sticks to breeze, but instead she stepped towards me. “Are you alright?”

“I’ll live. I’m just looking for… Ah, there it is.”

“What’s that?” she asked, looking at what I’d just pulled out. 

I held it up. “This, Ms. Kadret, is a police badge. This man is an officer, in plain clothes, trying to chill me.”

“Wow…” she said. “Who did you piss off?”


	11. Chapter 11

We needed to get out of the death-strewn street. My hotel was just down the block a ways, so we headed there. I had Marigold lead so I could keep an eye behind us; I could already hear sirens in the distance. I tried to hustle us along, ignoring the pain from my bullet wound as best I could.

The stairs were a problem, but I managed to get up them. I wasn’t surprised when I opened my door to find my place had been tossed. My clothes and sheets were all over the floor, the mattress and pillows gutted. All my notes — any paper that had been in the room, really — were gone. 

I sighed and tossed my suitcase on the table with a wince, and began dismantling Bianca. 

“I knew it was weird for a gumshoe to be traveling everywhere with a briefcase…” Marigold muttered, eyeing Bianca. Looking around the room, she asked, “What do you think is missing?”

I peered at the vent that used to hide a small safe; the cover was missing. “My spare firearms, ammo, and cash,” I answered. “And any copies I had on my notes for this case. Any previous cases are saved at the office, but…”

I swore as I noticed the missing original pages from my briefcase.

“We still have these, if that helps?” She walked over to show me a bunch of papers she somehow pulled out from the front of her shirt. She walked over to show me everything that had fallen from my briefcase during the drive by, evidently picked up off the street. 

I grinned and pulled her in for a big sloppy kiss to show my appreciation. Beautiful, a quick thinker, and she kept her head in a crisis — I’ve never been so dizzy over a dame before. 

She started to wrap her arms around me and felt the blood. “You _are_ hurt!”

I winced as she pressed her fingers to it. “Nothing I haven’t done before. I can handle it, assuming they left the first aid kit in the bathroom.”

She fetched the kit, and forced me to lay down so she could treat me. It wasn’t half bad, having a Jane look after you, though I could have lived without the sting of alcohol on an open wound. She ripped apart one of my shirts for bandages.

“That’ll hold you for now, but I’m calling a doctor.”

“No way,” I said firmly. “No hospitals. I don’t know who we can trust.”

“I’m not stupid,” she shot back. “I know a guy — Dr. Anders. He works out of the Darktown. He’ll fix you up.”


	12. Chapter 12

The phone line in my room was cut, so after fixing me up Marigold dropped a dime outside. I don’t know who she talked to, but apparently if you knew the right people you could get an off-the-books croaker in Darktown to send a taxi. Which was handy, as I was starting to get lightheaded and probably couldn’t make the walk.

I admit, I started going in an out a little in the taxi — or was it a hearse? I do know the driver helped plop me on a table in front of the blond who must have been Dr. Anders, given how much Marigold was thanking him. 

He pulled off her slapdash bandage. “Well this ought to be fun,” he said as he inspected the site. “No exit wound. I suspect you know what that means?”

I sure did. 

Sure enough, moments later he was knuckles deep in my abdomen, using tweasers to try to dig out the bullet that had apparently lodged in my ribs somewhere. Lucky me. The only thing he had to give me for the pain were a few shots of whiskey and my own leather belt to bite down on.

Finally he pulled out the slug. “You’re in luck!” he said cheerfully, holding the bloody thing up for me to see. “It’s all in one piece. That makes this _much_ simpler.”

“Oh goody.” My voice muffled by my belt and rough by my screaming.

Dr. Anders finished the patch job, and gave me directions on treating the wound. He must have known I was hardly listening, because he repeated them to Marigold. She was sympathetically stroking my arm, which was nice. 

As soon as he left I tried to sit up, groaning in pain as I did. Marigold help me up even as she chastised me. “He told you that you need bed rest…”

“I don’t have time to lay about. I need to— _oof_ …”

With her help I got to my feet. “What’s your next move?”

“Well it’s, uh…” I reached for my coat. There was a bullet hole in it, but it wasn’t that bloody. My shirt was beyond repair, so I was just going to have to walk around with my chest hair blowing in the wind. “I don’t know, actually. If you’re right about Nella, the blackmail is a dead end.”

“What about these?” she asked, holding up the rumpled accounting papers I’d swiped from du Launcet’s office. She’d evidently been reading them over while I’d been in surgery.

I waved a hand dismissively. “There’s nothing on there beside a couple thousand dollars, sent to Nella I assume.”

She blinked. “What are you talking about? He’s cooked the books for tens of thousands of dollars! And that’s just in this time period!”

This time I pause, one arm in my jacket. “There’s what?” I shoved my other arm in, then regretted it as pain lanced through me. I grabbed the papers I’d already studied, trying to find what she had. “Where?”

“Here.” She pointed to a few numbers — not in the credit or debit columns, but under the expense names.

“I thought those were, I don’t know, check numbers? Account numbers?”

“That’s exactly what he wanted you to think,” she said, nodding. “But he’s using them to track his payments to someone. They all add up, look here…”

It took several long moments, but I eventually caught on to what she had found. Weekly payments, made out to some mysterious figure. Several of the ‘account’ numbers included the letter ‘A’, others ‘J’. Codenames?

I swore. “It has to be something big. The lyrium?”

“If it is…”

“What?”

She bit her lip for a moment, then nodded confidently. “If it’s lyrium, I know who the payments are to,” she explained.” There’s only one big middleman in hightown: Athenril.”


	13. Chapter 13

Things slowed down after that, just a little. The coppers threw a big funeral for the boys in blue that had gone down during the drive by, claiming they had been killed in the line of duty. Apparently I’d made a clean sneak of it, because no one came calling with questions. Just to be safe, I moved out of my flophouse and into my office.

With Marigold’s information I was able to find Athenril, the smuggler that lead the lyrium distribution of Hightown. After that, with the help of the Hawke twins, I was able to finger a few of her lackeys. 

Then came the waiting. The best bet was to make my move after the next shipment. It was almost two weeks before the next Qunari ship came in. I staked out the Police Captain’s house, camera in hand, biding my time.

It took nearly two days of watching, but wouldn’t you know it: the day after the ship pulled in to port an elf named Tallis paid old Jeven a visit. I recognized her from her little talks with Athenril, though I suspected she actually worked for the Qunari. Either way, she went into Jeven’s back entrance with a heavy package and left without it some time later.

Film tucked away in my briefcase, my cane and I limped away from my stakeout position…

… and Directly into an ambush. I stepped into a plaza and found myself surrounded. A dozen heeled men poured out from the alleys and doorways.

No, not just men — cops, all of them.

Then Jeven strolled out. “Well done, Mr. Tethras. You’ve stumbled upon a case worthy of a _real_ detective,” he sneered. “Too bad you won’t live long enough to collect!”

I was stuck— no cover, no time to pull out Bianca… I braced myself, squeezing my eyes closed. A few moments later when I was still alive and didn’t hear any gunfire I peek one eye open, then the other. 

I was still surrounded by officers, but those officers were surrounded by _other_ officers. Jeven’s men held up their hands as Aveline’s men pressed barrels to their backs. 

Officer Valen herself strolled into the plaza. “It’s over, Jeven. Throw down your weapon.”

He hesitated, and she leveled her own gun at him.

“I said drop it!”

With a growl he did. 

And, with that, it was over. She cuffed him, and read him his rights. Aveline made a successful coup over the corrupt cops of Hightown. 

“You were following me? How did you know?” I asked her.

“Ask her,” Aveline answered, nodding to a figure walking into the scene. 

It was Marigold, of course. I should have known. “I told her to keep an eye on you after the next ship,” she explained with a shrug. “Just in case. Sorry they took so long for them to get here.”

“What made you so sure I needed help?” I asked.

“Well, I wasn’t sure you would, but I figured this was the most peaceful resolution. If you’d come forward with the evidence first…” She shrugged. “I didn’t want anyone to get hurt.”

I shook my head. She looked so guilty I just had to pull her in for a kiss. “Thank you, Sweetheart. You saved my life today.”

She smiled that perfect smile of hers. “I couldn’t just leave you, after you decided to go through with this.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, it’s not as if you’ll get paid for this, right? I don’t imagine Dulci will be happy with the information I heard Officer Valen found in Jeven’s office...”

I sighed. Yeah, I had thought of that. This was why I always asked for half up front.

After a few moments of watching cops dragging other cops away, she said. “I already talked her in to giving you a reward. It ought to keep you in business for a couple more months. It’s not much, but it’s the least she can do after you making the biggest drug bust of the decade!” 

I pulled her in tight, arm around her waist. “I bet it’ll go a lot farther than that with you as our new accountant,” I said with a grin, and kissed her soundly.


End file.
